Rebels With A Cause
by Apple Caramel Frapp
Summary: CA  As if trying to work up the words to tell your opposite number how you felt wasn't hard enough PostNonApocalypse, both Aziraphale and Crowley get far more than they can handle when they're commanded to train their 'teenage' replacements.
1. Cause of Delay

**Disclaimer**: Good Omens and the characters belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett. I really really really wish I owned them though—but if I did, then it might end up being a bit rated R. XD

**Author's Note**: This is my first Good Omen's fanfic so I hope it turns out well. Comments and reviews will be greatly appreciated, but flames would be utterly ignored, laughed at, disregarded, and handed to Crowley for the purposes of scaring his plants. If you see anything you don't like, there _is_ a back button on your browser which you can make use of.

Okay? Read and review!

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_**Rebels With a Cause**_

_A Good Omens Fanfic_

**Summary**: C/A - As if trying to work up the words and the guts to tell your opposite number wasn't hard enough Post-Apocalypse that Didn't Happen, but both Aziraphale and Crowley get far more than they can handle when they're commanded to train their 'teenage' replacements.

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The call came at a most inconvenient time. Nevertheless, it didn't mean that the call wasn't going to be heeded. After all, after two agonizing months of hearing absolutely nothing from Above about what they were all going to do about the characters who took special part in the End of the World That Didn't Really Happen, not to mention an insubordinate attempt to take on Satan all on one's own and talking back at the Metatron, one was pretty sure that at some point in the near future, Heaven was going to call for some sort of slap on the wrist.

And if they chose to lock-on to the fact that the said angel who did all these things was harboring a friendship with a _demon_—same demon that helped with the entire fiasco if not cause it entirely—it was more likely that the reason for the call was more than a slap on the wrist.

But just because it was expected didn't mean that Aziraphale wasn't as frantic as he could without being so obvious. There was, after all, an Archangel in the room.

"Did they say anything?" Aziraphale asked, wringing his hands. "They just want me to come up there?"

Raphael, who was on duty with the whole 'cleaning up after the Apocalypse That Wasn't', looked rather frazzled, mostly because Above had sent him practically on nonstop errands since the World Didn't End. Being the swiftest of the Archangels, he was made to round the world thirty times in the past two months just to _make sure_ that if the Apocalypse wasn't going to happen, things were at least going to be _normal_ for the time being. He answered, running a hand through his curly hair, "Well…no, not really. They just told me to go get you…make sure you get there right quick too…"

"They're going to demote me again, aren't they?" Aziraphale's blue-gray eyes, which were usually filled with divine light, were filled with clouds of doom.

Raphael replied rather cautiously, "Er…_no_, I don't think they're going to demote you." He looked a trifle awkward. Aziraphale stared at him. The Archangel—still in full-on glittering regalia complete with wings even on his shoes—now waved his hands around and said, "Er…judging by the things you, uh…happened to have participated with on that botched Apocalypse thing, it'd be a lot worse than just that. I mean look at what happened when you lost your sword and all…"

"You're not helping, Raph," Aziraphale said, ruffled. He and Raphael actually got along pretty well, especially back in the day before the War, and mostly because if there was any angel prone to dropping in every once in a while, it would be him, looking for a bit of a break from his sending messages and decrees from on high.

( _The War in Heaven, when the whole third of the Angel population fell._

_Gabriel did it most of the time, but he's on leave of absence for the next two thousand years and Raphael was told to cover the post—which was all the better for Aziraphale since he and Gabriel didn't exactly get along as angelically as they should.)_

"Well look on the bright side," said Raphael, grinning as he put back one of Aziraphale's strange bibles that he'd been looking at. "They didn't send Cassiel to fetch you. It must be a sign that things can't be _that _bad!"

(_Cassiel: aka the Angel of Tears, aka the Angel of Hard Knocks aka the last angel you want to be fetching you if you're currently in danger of being punished.)_

Aziraphale winced. There was that, at least. Heaven was finally asking for him, and even though Raphael said he wasn't sure why, there was a pretty big chance that it was all about the Apocalypse That Didn't Happen. Not only did he not have any idea of what was going to happen to him, he was due to meet Crowley at that quaint little pub they'd gone to some few years back to have a bit of a chat. Or, in Crowley's point of view, another debate on what the Ineffable Plan actually was. Though he wasn't looking forward to the conversation, Aziraphale still wanted to have a chance to see his friend of 6,000 years one last time before he got snatched up by Heaven.

After all, he still hasn't told him that feeling that's been plaguing him for some time now. It was very disconcerting.

"We might as well get it over with, hey?" Raphael said, sitting on one of the tables with a bit of a grin. "I'll be behind you the whole time—"

There was a flash of light from Up Above.

Raphael looked awkward. "Er…okay, I _won't_ be behind you the whole time, but I'll be outside the Metatron's office for emotional support." He smiled helpfully.

Aziraphale sighed. "Indeed… We should just get this over with. It's just that…" and he stopped himself. Friend or no, Raphael was still an Archangel and he wasn't entirely sure that mentioning Crowley was a good idea right now.

"It's just that what?"

"Er…shouldn't we be getting going?" Aziraphale amended, forcing a smile, hoping to distract him. "I don't think the Metatron likes being kept waiting…"

"Patience is a virtue," grinned Raphael in a would-be singsong voice—and there was another flash of light from Up Above, a more threatening one this time. The Archangel jumped. "All right, all right!" he said, eyes wide as he looked up at the ceiling.

Aziraphale waved his hand over himself and he had changed back into the robes similar to what he'd been wearing when he once guarded the Gates of Eden. There was a light gust as his wings released from his back, the tips dropping to the dusty shop floor. Another wave, and the shop locked up completely on its own. He looked at Raphael, disappointment and surrender more than a bit obvious on his face. "Well…? Let's go."

Raphael took one more second to pause, looking apologetic. "Still, though, Aziraphale… I'm sorry, having to spring this on you like this. I know you've gotten a bit attached to Earth and all. I'm not saying it's _right, _but…I guess I can't blame you for trying to stop Armageddon."

To which Aziraphale smiled faintly. _Attached to Earth and quite a few things in it. I do hope Crowley wouldn't be so angry about my standing him up like this… I'll apologize when I get back. If I __**am**__ allowed to come back. _"Don't worry about it, Raphael."

A bright light overtook the entire backroom of the bookshop in Soho. Two pair of great white wings were outstretched upwards—and in a burst similar to a thunderclap less than ten feet away, the bookshop was empty, with nothing more than the books and papers fluttering down at the wake of their flight.

* * *

The thunderclap, being actually a powerful burst of divine power capable of rocketing two angels on an express trip straight into Heaven, was not lost on malignant beings in the area. Lesser ones would've been sent skittering for the shadows, but Anthony J. Crowley wasn't one of them, and found the thunderclap merely as a sudden surprising sound that seemed to come from somewhere far away—something that humans couldn't hear. 

He was a bit distracted from a bit of trouble of his own he was currently in. Driving at 110 kilometers per hour as usual in his Bentley, heading for his meeting with Aziraphale, the radio was talking to him again.

"Er…so that'd have to be right now, sir?"

_YES, CROWLEY_, the warped voice of Damon answered, sounding irritated. _RIGHT NOW. STOP WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING AND GET BACK DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW. BY ORDERS OF BEELZEBUB._

Crowley mentally blessed furiously. Two months of agonized _nothing_ from Hell over that whole Apocalypse fiasco and now—_right now_ when he was just starting to think that it was okay to relax—they call him, sounding pissed as, well…hell. Right before he was about to meet Aziraphale and engage in another witty banter, and quite possibly spring something pretty shocking on that angel companion of his that he'd been holding back for quite a bit of time. Things couldn't get more depressing than this.

"Did he uh, say what I was being called down there for?" Crowley asked.

_NO. BUT IT'D HAVE TO BE ABOUT YOUR BUNGLING THE END OF DAYS, IF YOU ASK ME. _And Dagon went off into quite an evil laugh—more so than usual demonic standards. _AND PROBABLY SOMETHING ABOUT THOSE THINGS YOU'VE BEEN DOING UP THERE ON EARTH._

Yep. It just got even more depressing. Did they decide to crack down on the fact that he got along with Aziraphale too well for a demon? Worse—if Hell knew, then Heaven would soon enough, if not already, and Aziraphale would land himself in a lot of trouble too. Sure there was a lot of mercy up there in Heaven, but one third of the angels went sprawling down to Hell after the war and _stayed_ that way for a reason.

He wondered what he was going to do if he found Aziraphale in Hell as a fallen angel. Or worse. He'd probably lose his head—if he wasn't already about to lose it now.

_ARE YOU LISTENING, CROWLEY?! _came Dagon's boom from the radio. _STOP WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING AND GET DOWN HERE!! NOW!!_

The radio actually blew into a fit of sparks right at Crowley's face, sending him swerving off road. In a great screaming skidding arc, the Bentley made a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn that created a twelve-car pileup that would've made Hell proud if Crowley hadn't been in trouble with them. The car flew out into a grassy knell at the side of the road before Crowley swerved in the dirt again. However, the driver's side door suddenly flew open and threw its occupant into the air.

Crowley realized that he was falling into a great unearthly scarlet symbol on the ground that he was fairly sure hadn't been there before. _Boy, when they want me down there now, they __**really**__ meant __**now**_

His last thoughts before he dived right into the symbol on the ground that burst into red demonic light that completely swallowed him up was if Aziraphale was going to be very mad that he'd stood him up without even a call.

* * *

"Um…you called for me, sir?" Aziraphale said meekly as he peeked into the office of the Metatron. Raphael prodded him onward. He glowered at his friend for a moment before daring to go in a bit further. 

The office was very oddly decorated for an angel's office up there in Heaven—fine cedar for the desk, paintings floating over a white expanse of non-walls, a swiveling chair covered in down and white silk, while the carpet looked like it was made of feathers. Lots and lots of downy feathers. To add to that, there were lots of smaller feathers drifting down from above like great deal of snow. Aziraphale would've sneezed if angels didn't need to do such a thing. Wrapped around marble columns that flanked the path to the desk were a lot of golden laurels, and from behind the desk was a great deal of blinding yellow light. It was a cross between angelic visitation and a CEO's office.

"Aziraphale," came the Voice of God's way of greeting. "Come forward."

Swallowing hard, Aziraphale crept forward, approaching the great beam of blinding light in front of him. "Yes, er…good morning, sir."

There was a harrumph in answer, and the sound of papers shuffling. Aziraphale felt awkward—he hadn't been in here since he gave his flaming sword off to Adam and Eve. And though that didn't go particularly, he wondered how the Metatron would deal with his unique offenses this time around. He stood fidgeting uncomfortably, adjusting the gold tassel on his robes.

"All right," the Metatron finally said as the sound of shuffling papers stopped. Something that sounded like a paperweight was heard thudding lightly on the desk. "Let's get right to it then—no use in wasting any more time."

Aziraphale nodded miserably. He was going to be confined to Heaven this time, he just knew it. That image Crowley gave him of spending eternity with Elgar was turning reality. And Crowley! Well, he'd definitely never see him again… Funny how Heaven could become his own personal Hell if he looked at it from certain angles…

"I had you called here to give you an important task," said the Metatron.

Aziraphale looked up. "Pardon?"

"You have an important job to take care of," said the Metatron. "It would require you to take special care in this matter as it is something requested by God Himself…."

"Wait—" Aziraphale felt confused. An assignment? A very honored assignment at that? What was going on? "You're…you're giving me an assignment, sir? I thought…er…aren't I about to be punished…or something?" He really didn't want to bring it up if he was going to get off pretty easily, but his truthful nature couldn't really allow it to just be glossed over when his offenses were pretty serious.

"Punished…?" came the Metatron's answer, sounding like a patient superior to an ignorant subordinate the world over.

"About the things I did incident with the Apoca—"

"What are you talking about?! That didn't happen!!" came the sudden indignant boom of light and sound and Aziraphale ducked under a wing. The Metatron cleared his throat, sounding a bit more composed this time. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Aziraphale."

"What…?" the angel felt dazed. Was Heaven in _denial_ or something? He did hear a rumor or two about it from some passing guardian angels but he didn't think that they were denying that the Incident ever happened to the point that they were going to wipe him clean of offenses that happened during the time.

"Now!" said the Metatron, seemingly scribbling something on a sheet of paper, "Back to that assignment."

Aziraphale nodded with a gulp. "Er…yes, sir."

"You are going to receive an angel that will replace you."

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"_WHAT?!"_ came Crowley's yell from inside the infernal office of Beelzebub. It looked like a twisted Roman senate painted red and with burning torches every two feet, with critters of the depths crawling around the posts. A great deal of burning dark red silk was around—silk was probably something they had in common with Heaven—as draperies, and the great Beelzebub himself, that mass of hellish insectlike swarms, was standing behind a great black coal pulpit and glowering down at the demon whose yell just shook the entire vicinity. If that were _all_ Crowley would do. 

"What do you mean, _replacement_?!" he shouted up at him, anger and some panic threading through every cell in his currently mortal form. "You're giving me a sodding replacement?! You're replacing me?!" What about the fact that he's settled there on earth?! What about his house? His plants? His _car?! _And _Aziraphale?!_

The last part, he felt his face grow quite hot, and he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with all the damn torches all around him. He best keep his mind off that for now.

"_Be zzzzzilent, Crawly_!"

"It's _Crowley_," he said coldly. He'd already defied Beelzebub once, might as well go out with a bang, he decided, because things weren't getting any worse than this. He was literally and metaphorically going to Hell and it wasn't looking to be pleasant anyway.

"_Whatever. Now let me finish. If I were to be interrupted again, I will have your tongue pulled from your mouth with white-hot tongsssszzz…"_

Crowley shut up but glared furiously. His golden eyes were glowing even more than before. Six thousand years of being stuck up there and then they're _replacing him_?! What were they on about?! He'd gotten more commendations up there than any other demon field agent they had! And there was no way he was going to stay down here either! Just being here right now was enough to make him want to skewer an imp!

"_Yessszzz… You will have a replacement… Besides the mess you've made of that Incident Which Everyone Knowssz Didn't Actually Happen…_ _You will eventually have to be retired from Earth. It'ssszzz been over sixzzzz thousszzand yearzz…"_

Who the _Hell_ said he was tired of Earth yet?! Crowley snarled inwardly but said nothing.

"…_and eventually, we will want ssszomeone elssszze there…_" there was the sound of something clinking behind the pulpit. "_But mossszzt fortunately for you and moszzt unfortunately for usszz…you will be there for quite a while yet…apparently."_ He didn't sound pleased about that.

Crowley felt himself relax a bit. So they weren't replacing him just yet. But he wondered how long "quite a while" actually _was_ that they had already decided to get him a replacement.

"All right," said Crowley, glaring. "I'm getting a replacement. Eventually. So what?"

"_You, you insubordinate ingrate, are going to have to __**train**__ that replacement."_

"_**What**_?!"

"_Yesszz…_" Beelzebub seemed happy about _that_. _"We will ssszend him to you in three dayssszzz… And you will receive your replacement, and train him in the job that you now have… Ssshow him the wayszz around Earth…and how thingszz are done._"

_I don't believe this_, Crowley thought. _They're turning me into a sodding trainer for rookies._ "Why does it have to be me?!" he demanded.

"_Handszz on experienzzz… There is only szzo much training Down Here can do… He needzzz to be in Earth and to learn from a field agent…esszzpecially the one he will be replacing…_"

Crowley growled and blessed under his breath. Judging by the alternatives, this was actually a pretty good thing. But the promise that in the future he was going to be sent back Down Here again wasn't pleasant anyway. And now, he had to spend his precious remaining time on Earth _training_ some idiot imp who probably didn't even know how to hide his demonic energy from humans and divine representation.

"_You really don't have a choice, Crawly…"_

"Crowley!"

"_You don't have a choice…period." _Beelzebub glowered down at him. "_You will get a trainee…end of ssszztory. I ssszzuggest that you get your act together…because if __**that**__ trainee sszzcrews up while he'sszz there…__**you**__ as his trainer…are responsible…and you will get it from usszz."_

Hell wasn't known for fairness. But this, by far, had to be the most unfair thing Crowley had heard of in the entire conversation yet. He'd already started plotting ways of sabotaging his trainee so that he could happily buy some more time on Earth, but it looks like he'd be taking the fall too if his idiot trainee screwed up.

Bureaucracy was hell, that was for sure.

And gathering what remained of his dignity, Crowley turned heel and exited Beelzebub's presence, mortified and angry, wondering how he was going to deal with this completely unexpected punishment. It had to be punishment, because it sure as hell—clearly—wasn't a commendation.

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Author's Note:** Aaaah…XD So they're getting replaced, hey? But things haven't gotten _nearly_ off the wall enough yet. They haven't even _met_ who they're going to be replaced with, which will make things all the more complicated. XD Please review! 


	2. Cause for Concern

**Disclaimer**: Good Omens and the characters belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett. I really really really wish I owned them though—but if I did, then it might end up being a bit rated R. XD

**Author's Note**: Thank you for everyone who reviewed! I'm really glad it's well-received and I'm hoping that this chapter goes okay too. The reminders in the first chapter still stand—see anything you don't like, click away from the page. I hope you all like this, because the newbies just hit town.

Okay? Read and review!

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_**The Rebels with a Cause**_

_A Good Omens Fanfic_

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**CHAPTER TWO: Cause for Concern**

It was one thing, of course, to be called to headquarters and not be expecting to return due to penalty reasons. It just then became a matter of hearing what your given form of capital punishment was, accepting it (willingly or unwillingly), and then wincing and waiting for the big blow to fall, leaving nothing but whatever misgivings you may have about the things unfinished left behind at earth. Namely, your opposite number.

It was quite another thing, however, to disappear with no note, no call, on a day when you were expected, and return realizing that you have left earth for a full twenty-four hours since you left without having said anything to particular someone you cared about more than you ought to be.

Who was, in all likelihood, very upset that he had been stood up wordlessly.

Of course, neither realized that both were thinking the same thing.

"Oh, how in the world am I to explain to him…?" Aziraphale fretted around the back room of his shop. He had arrived a full day since he'd left. And Crowley would be highly upset that he, had been so drastically stood up with no explanation whatsoever. Worse, what if he came to the bookshop and didn't find him there? He would think that the Arrangement was being breached and technically, it was.

All the paperwork and arrangements had to be done—as to when and where the new angel arrived, as to where it was going to stay once on Earth, what Aziraphale should teach, and what should, more or less, be done with it.

The angel had to be referred to as "it" because Heaven didn't tell him anything about the replacement aside from a fact that he should be patient, because the replacement had never left Heaven before and knew little about humans, and the fact that the replacement is a bit younger than he was, which Aziraphale didn't really mind. If it was an angel who'd been around as long as he had, he'd hardly think that the replacement would need that much training at all.

Irregardless, it turns out that Aziraphale would not only have to have the angel live with him, but also that it would have to be with him practically at all times. And though Aziraphale would have to agree that an angel who was rather ignorant about human beings would not be safe on its own among them (owing to everything he'd learned about them), it would prove to be serious inconvenience for him who was usually alone.

And how was he supposed to talk to Crowley if he had a tag-along? Especially a tag-along who grew mainly in heaven and was therefore the conventional angel, the kind that would go into full-on smiting mode when presented with any form of malignant presence?

The only thing he _could _do would be to stay away from Crowley and somehow steer away the new angel from being anywhere in his vicinity in the duration of the training. Worse, he didn't even know how long the training was going to be.

How was he supposed to explain all this to Crowley? He paced up and down his bookshop to the point of wearing down the floor. There was nothing for it, really—he should just call him and try to explain. He's probably not in any mood to talk to him, but what else could he do? He had but little time left on earth, and he would be replaced in a while. He couldn't afford fighting now.

_We survived the Apocalypse for…for __**somebody**__'s sake, _Aziraphale thought unhappily. _He won't be_ _**that**__ angry. …I hope._

He picked up his phone and dialed Crowley's apartment's number, but after several endless rings—he got the stupid ansaphone that Crowley had only so recently taught about. Why wasn't Crowley home? The bookshop didn't look like anyone had come by since he'd left, so Crowley hadn't come here to check on him, so where else could he be but there, fuming? If not violently harming something in retaliation…

The beep cued.

Aziraphale struggled with his words, "Crowley? Look—I…" What was he supposed to say? Oh, hello, Crowley, guess what, I'm getting a replacement—yes, _another_ angel in these parts—and guess what? I have to train him because in a few years I'll be going back to Heaven! He'll be all over the place doing a lot of happy goodness and smiting demons so I can't stay with you at all and the Arrangement has pretty much ruined itself! Isn't that fun?

The angel groaned. "I can't do this." And hung up. He sat down heavily on the sofa in the back room and a bright cloud of dust billowed up as he did so. If angels had needed to cough, he would be hacked out a lung.

This wasn't fair, Aziraphale thought. There was nowhere else Crowley would be except at home, in which case he was avoiding him, or wreaking some demonic havoc somewhere in retaliation, just to even up _his_ side of the Agreement that he believed Aziraphale to be breaking.

He got up and paced some more. Then he paused. _Well…I can't very well talk to Crowley while he's __**this**__ upset. Heaven knows what happened the last time I tried that… _He shook his head.

_(The last time Aziraphale tried that, a great deal of French aristocrats were beheaded amidst howling mobs.)_

There was just nothing for it. If Crowley was angry, he really hoped it wouldn't last a few years—because he might not have that long—because he would have to wait for him to cool down before trying to talk to him again. As for now, he had no choice on the matter. Begrudgingly, he picked up a feather duster and began to attempt to make the shop look presentable for his guest to-be.

* * *

"_Shit!_" Crowley hissed as he found himself back at his apartment, in the empty silence of it all. The clock on the bed was proclaiming that it had been an actual day _and a half_ since he'd left. There had been lots of technicalities to take care of—paperwork and the like—and he also did quite a lot of arguing owing to the fact that they positively refused to tell him anything about his replacement except for the fact that he was "a proper demon who'd probably stick a human into a spit as soon as he set foot there". 

That wasn't good.

Now, aside from the fact that Aziraphale was probably seriously angry with him for standing him up—the angel had a thing for punctuality—with no call, no word, not even a flock of hellish bats sent roaring his way as some form of _hint_, he was also about to drag up from hell some maniac demon who was going to break the entire Agreement into pieces! And he was due to train him! There was no way that Aziraphale could possibly overlook something like that. And he can forget about any form of cooperation from the angel. Crowley was one thing—they'd known each other for thousands of years—and another demon did not fit into the picture.

Glaring malevolently at his plants—who mistakenly thought it was a command to brighten up and invariably did so—he wondered how much trouble it would get him into if he ran the new demon over with the Bentley the moment he set foot on earth. It wasn't like anybody would _notice,_ now would they? The idiot practically grew up down there, as far as he heard, and would know nothing about cars…

He kicked a chair in frustration. But the paperwork that it'll engender will be left up to _him_! Since he was now some sort of infernal replacement trainer, they're probably just going to make him do all the paperwork and get another one up there… And worse, if they blamed him for the accident just for kicks—since he was supposed to keep an eye on the rookie—, he was going to get it anyway. Times like these nearly made him want to grab another bucket of holy water and douse something unholy with it.

There was just nothing for it: he had to find _some _way to mess up his trainee while on earth without anything getting pinned on him. He'd hung around Earth since it started and there was no way he was going to relinquish it over to someone who can barely curse something. _(Demonic equivalent of tying your shoelaces.)_

He strode past the room and saw the ansaphone declaring that it had one message. He angrily punched at the 'play' button. _Now what?!_

"_Crowley_?"

The demon froze at the sound of Aziraphale's voice. He entirely forgot to breathe—which he really didn't have to do. The angel had called while he was gone after all. Resounding choruses of mixed cursing and blessing flew through his head for one terrible moment.

"_Look—I…" _the angel sounded like he was holding back something big—and sounded deeply frustrated over the phone. Inwardly, as he stared at the ansaphone, Crowley wished Aziraphale would burst into a fit of angry scolding. That always worked. And he was usually calm enough to talk to after. Sometimes. _(As the equivalent of the beheading incident with Aziraphale, Crowley once made the angel angry enough retaliate with such a sweeping wave of goodness that no one in the three-county-radius sinned for a full week straight. It was a record, considering population density, and Crowley nearly died from all the niceness of it.)_

Crowley stared at the ansaphone. _Come on, angel. Yell at me. Something._

Nothing. There was a sudden gust of breath over the phone—disappointed and inconsolable. "_…I can't do this._" And the message ended.

Crowley sat down, feeling sickened. Fantastic. Not even a burst of holy (unholy?) wrath over the phone. He'd really done it this time. Aziraphale must know something was up. Something demonic in the air that Crowley never gave him a heads up for—_and_ he'd stood him up. He was gone an entire day and a half after being MIA and the angel was too intelligent to overlook the idea that there might be something he was upto.

But it wasn't his _fault_! Crowley thought, suddenly angry—with everything. He didn't _ask_ to be replaced and he didn't _want_ to be! He wanted to stay on earth and bloody wreak havoc and keep seeing his car, his house, his plants and…

He looked to the ansaphone. In a little while he'll have to do something in preparation for the arrival of the newbie he didn't want. Probably get drunk off his hinges for sure.

But he had a little bit of time. He got up and replayed the message.

If he messed this whole thing up and got sent back Down There, he at least had _that_.

* * *

Three days passed before Raphael dropped by with a note from the Metatron saying that the new angel would be arriving at St. James park at a prompt ten in the morning, and that he should meet him there. After his winging friend had left, Aziraphale took one last do-over of the bookshop, looked at himself in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable, and sighed. Here it came. It was finally the day. 

Three days had also passed—and there was no word from Crowley. He really didn't expect anything less, as when the demon was angry, it lasted a great deal of time. Still, he _somehow _wished he could give him some form of heads up as, irregardless of the fight, he would not like him discorporated by this new angel in the immediate future.

As he made his way down the late-fall morning towards the park, he began to wonder what kind of an angel his new trainee was going to be. It was a "young" angel, as Raphael mentioned once. So Aziraphale, who had been around since the Beginning, would be fairly sure that he had never met this angel before.

He reached the park at ten am sharp but saw no sign of any divine presence. Everything was quiet, peaceful, or as can be. Some humans milled about, minding their own businesses, obviously ignoring the man in the coat and tartan scarf who was looking avidly around. Aziraphale didn't really know _what_ to expect—he was waiting for bursts of divine light and angelic armor traditionally worn by the angels up there.

Ten thirty came and still no sign of the angel. Aziraphale began to wonder if the angel got lost. Or, even better, if it was coming at all.

_Maybe they changed their minds_, Aziraphale thought with a glimmer of profound hope. _Maybe they're not sending one at all. Maybe they've decided to let me stay instead of getting a replacement! I mean, I've been here forever—they might as well just let me stay here without a new one! _It was a very riveting thought. He immediately turned back to the direction of the bookshop with the intention of contacting Up There somehow to confirm that logical idea.

And the moment he turned around, he very nearly crashed into someone fairly tall with long golden hair. Aziraphale froze as a wash of perfectly natural, powerful angelic energy came over his senses, alerting him. This had to be it—because this one wasn't even trying to hide the divine power. His heart sank.

Then he looked up.

"Oh! Are you Aziraphale?" came a very excited voice.

He stared, because in front of him was an angel—a very young angel.

Now, to angels, the definition of "young" is quite different from humans considering their lifespan. Even though a great mass of the angels were created right at the Beginning, in the span of the millennias they had lost a number—most from the Fall, others got discoporated in fights against demons, and so on—and so it was natural to consider that sometimes a new angel would be created just to keep the numbers evened out. Even so, when Raphael said "young", Aziraphale figured maybe four, five-thousand years old. Maybe even three thousand five hundred. Someone who would considerably know _something_ or enough of it to be sent to Earth.

_This_ one—this angel who was standing in front of him wearing what was unmistakably still an angelic toga complete with gold tassels and white ankle-boots—couldn't possibly be more than two thousand, maybe even less, from the way his deep cerulean eyes gleamed in excitement.

In human terms—a teenager. The new angel looked like your typical (albeit very pretty) sixteen-year-old.

Aziraphale was horrified. There had to be something wrong. "I—I am…" he stammered as he stared at the angel. The no-gender rule aside, this one was inclined to be male. And was currently looking around avidly in all directions. "What—I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Serafel—it's really good to meet you, sir!" said the angel, grabbing Aziraphale's hand and pumping it with enough force to amputate it. "You have no idea how exciting it is to finally be on earth! I learned all about it but I've never actually been down here so I'm very much looking forward to all this—"

"Wait—excuse me," said Aziraphale, looking deeply flustered at this angel who was still in full regalia, had his _wings_ out and everything, and was just about as ready to go off as a firecracker in New Year's. "Sorry—Serafel? …how old exactly…_are_ you?"

"Oh, I'm one thousand six hundred years," he grinned in answer, a set of pearly white teeth. "Yeah, I studied up there with the other new angels… Hey, you know Uriel, right? He's a really strict teacher on vigilance." He laughed.

Shaking away the thought that Heaven actually _had_ an angel academy, he stared at Serafel and realized how much in trouble he actually was in. _They sent me a child, _Aziraphale thought, aghast. _Oh good Heaven above, he doesn't even know how to hide his angelic light._

"Hello!" said Serafel cheerfully to some passing schoolchildren, waving happily. "God be with you!"

"Serafel, would you please come with me for a minute—I need to ask you something…?" Aziraphale said through a very painful smile as he grabbed the teenage angel by the gilded arm and dragged him off to the privacy of a few barren trees.

Serafel looked puzzled but obliging, and hadn't yet lost his sunny smile for an instant. "Okay, sure, but I've got questions too. What are you wearing? Where are we? Are we going back to your place? Do we get to live somewhere or do we just go around in various guises doing Acts of God?"

Aziraphale let out his breath. This was going to be a _lot_ more complicated than he had initially calculated.

* * *

Three days of absolutely nothing more from Aziraphale. He couldn't blame him—it was a two-way street and he could've called, but he didn't want to have to explain some insane phenomena of why everything was suddenly so _good _and _kind_ to the new demon in case Aziraphale felt like paying his end of the Agreement. 

Crowley was leaning against his Bentley, which was parked close to the bridge. It was due for his replacement to arrive and he was ready for him. Even against his comfort, he'd put in another canister of holy water in the vault just in _case_ he really, desperately needed it. He had a feeling he might. He was already glaring at the ground in front of him, waiting for the imp to arrive out of the ground. He was going to hate every waking moment of this—yes, he planned to do some sleeping. And drinking. He had a feeling he would need it. A lot of it.

"Nice wheels."

Crowley blinked and looked up. He turned around to see the speaker, and felt a gust of demonic energy wave through him. Strong demonic energy—not unalike his own. This couldn't possibly be an imp. He lowered his sunglasses slightly to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Because firstly, what was standing in front of him was a boy—one that couldn't be more than seventeen years of human appearance—lean but strong, with blueblack hair hanging down to his shoulders. A pair of deep silver eyes were on his face, and he was handsome in a semi-brooding sort of way. He was dressed head to foot in black, and adorned with chains. His hands still had long nails—claws, and he was exuding the energy as though he wasn't even aware he was doing it—something that _shouldn't_ be done on Earth.

Crowley narrowed his slitted golden eyes. This has _got_ to be some kind of mistake. "You're Jaden?"

"Yeah…" came the slightly bored answer as the youth brushed away a lock of dark hair from his face. "That's me. You're Uncle Crowley, right?"

"Uncle—?!" What the _hell?!_

"Yeah…" sighed the demon-teen. "I'm Mezrial's son… One of them, anyway." He rolled his eyes.

Crowley stared at him. He remembered her, Mezrial, and did a bit of tempting work with her back during the Crusades. She was one of the Succubuses Down There and she was 'related' to him somehow. A third cousin or something, if there were such a thing. "You're Mezrial's kid? The one who's a Hell Sword?"

The boy nodded. Hell Sword was a designation given to some young demons being groomed for some serious Earth trouble. They had to be a bit stronger than the others, and were something like the Honor Roll in a class. Crowley began to feel his plans crack. There was no way Hell was going to let it off if he doused a Hell Sword with Holy Water, and he certainly can't be replaced just like that. And the trouble that Mezrial would give him! After the last bargain he made with the woman, he never wanted to make another one again. It cost too much.

_(Just out of spite, she required him to give her all the gifts in the song The Twelve Days of Christmas. In order. In each day. Crowley was sick of fowl until Easter.)_

But what bothered Crowley more was the boy's _age_. He blessed under his breath. "Bloody—how old _are_ you? You're just a kid! They sent me a kid to train?"

"I'm almost two thousand years, thanks," Jaden glared at him with a glint of silver eyes. "And I'll have you know that I didn't ask for this either."

Crowley glowered at him. At least the feeling was mutual. Jaden just rolled his eyes, looking disinterested. "Okay look," said the boy. "They just told me to come up here, meet you and get some hands-on training. So what am I supposed to do?"

"First things first, you better dim down that energy of yours before you call down a crew from the Vatican, and you can forget about graduating Hell Sword cum laude," Crowley said, frowning at him, arms crossed.

There was a pause.

"What are you waiting for? Easter?" Crowley said.

Jaden glared at him. Hard. Something caught fire—the tree behind Crowley. The older demon wasn't frazzled, but he got the hint. He sighed and pushed up his sunglasses. "You don't know how." It wasn't a question. Jaden just glared at him again.

_I'm a fucking babysitter, that's what I am…oh, if Aziraphale could see me now… _Crowley rolled his eyes as he walked up to the boy. "Okay I'll do it for you just this _once_. Pay attention so you can do it on your own."

"Whatever…" Jaden muttered, looking only a bit irritated.

Crowley reached out with a glowing hand and grabbed the boy's shoulder. There was a rivet of demonic energy and Jaden groaned in something like pain as the energy began to get lowered and concealed within his human body. A moment later, Crowley pulled back his hand and pushed up his sunglasses again. "That should do it."

"That hurt!" the teen glared.

"Only because you've never done it before!" Crowley snapped back. _A fucking kid! Geez, what am I supposed to do, clean up after him?! This can't be happening… _"Now come on. Get in the car."

"Why?"

"Why?" Crowley echoed in a grated mocking tone. "Because I'm taking you somewhere to get you some proper _clothes_. You'll never blend in that way."

"These _are_ proper clothes," Jaden remarked.

"Just get in the car!!" Crowley said.

Rolling his eyes, Jaden did as told and promptly shut up once he was on the passenger's seat. He was pretending not to be interested in the car and doing a bad job at it. Crowley smirked to himself.

_Maybe I'll scare junior a bit, _he decided as they drove off, heading for the nearest shopping mall.

**

* * *

Author's Note: **Well. XD Aren't _they_ the adorable ones. I'm sure Aziraphale and Crowley didn't see _that_ coming. One pretty teen angel and one rather morose teen demon… Hmm… Those two better be prepared for something truly frightening: Parenthood. XD Please review! 


	3. Cause for Attention

**Disclaimer**: Good Omens and the characters belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett. I really really really wish I owned them though—but if I did, then it might end up being a bit rated R. XD

**Author's Note**: Thank you for everyone who reviewed! I'm glad that people are liking this concept, and I do too. I promise that since I'm on sembreak, I churn out chapters faster. Anyway, so far, I'm really glad you all like it and I continue to look forward to your suggestions and input and such. Remember, if you see anything you don't like, just hit the back button and be on your merry way…

Okay? Read and review!

* * *

_**The Rebels with a Cause**_

_A Good Omens Fanfic_

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE: Cause for Attention**

"All right, here we are…" Aziraphale smiled as he opened the door to the bookshop. "Home sweet home."

Serafel went in, banging his sword on the doorpost as he did, looking around in unhidden wide-eyed fascination at everything he saw. He was marveling at all the material and the craftsmanship and _especially_ the multitudes of old books that have flooded the location. Aziraphale said, "It's not much, but I think we'll be quite fine here…"

"This is…whoa…" he peered up at the books, not knowing which one to look at first. "This is…this is all yours? Wow… These are ancient!"

"Quite so, yes…" Aziraphale laughed a bit, leaning against a stack that proceeded to billow up a good amount of dust. "Er, I did clean up a bit but these things are quite old you see…" He trailed away, watching his new protégée as he examined the room with the interest of a child in a toy store. Serafel didn't look disappointed in any way—in fact, he was looking wildly overexcited.

"Books…you collect books!" he exclaimed, moving long delicate hands over the spines and covers on the shelves. "Do all humans do this? What kind of books are they?"

"Mostly prophecy books and unusual bibles…" Aziraphale smiled, going up to him. "But no, not all humans do it. It's…er… a bit of a hobby of mine, really." He laughed, a bit embarrassed.

"What about that?" Serafel pointed to Aziraphale's clothes, tugging at the tartan scarf eagerly. "Do I have to wear those too? We're going to pretend to be mortals?"

_Crowley'll have a fit if I teach this child to wear the clothes I do, judging by how he reacts to some of mine to begin with, _Aziraphale thought with a smile. He remembered then his problem regarding that demon who'd he'd allowed to get closer to him than prudent, and quickly shook his head. He had to deal with this first, get all things about Serafel out of the way before even beginning to consider how he was going to warn Crowley about this. An Agreement was an Agreement after all.

"All right, Serafel—first things first…" Aziraphale said quickly, pulling the young angel away from the books. "Let's talk about how you're going to get settled in first, all right, dear?"

"That's great! What's this?" the young angel grabbed a can of milk chocolate powder from the counter. "Oh! It's chocolate! I've heard about this!" he dug into it eagerly.

_Fantastic. It looks like his attention span is limited as well…_ Aziraphale was seriously starting to consider whether or not this _was_ someone's idea of punishment. "Serafel, you don't eat it that way." He carefully took the can from him and instead gave him a cup of hot chocolate instead. "There. Now—can we please talk about—"

"Uh-huh…" the boy was gulping down the hot chocolate like a camel in a desert.

Aziraphale took a sigh of relief. "Okay. Now…you'll be staying here with me for the duration of your hands-on training. You'll be known to the mortals as my nephew, Sera Fel. Now, the thing you _must_ remember is—" and he gave one tug at a tassel in Serafel's outfit and it miraculously became a very white turtleneck and jeans with white sneakers, thankfully devoid of tartan. "—that we don't really go around in our angelic robes and—"

"Oh!" Serafel burst out laughing in delight at the sudden costume change, bolting around the room to find the nearest reflective surface and looking at his new outfit. "This is great! This is just like what I see mortals wear in the books we studied Up There—"

"And please take away your wings, my dear—humans won't be used to seeing those either," Aziraphale finished as his apprentice ran around happily. He eyed the young angel and wondered how much he really knew about humans outside of whatever books they had in that angel academy he had supposedly gone to.

_Heaven sure has changed since I last saw it…_Aziraphale decided, shaking his head. Serafel had indeed folded back within himself his wings by now, and now turned to look at Aziraphale. "So let me see. I'm your nephew Sera. What do I call you?"

"Uncle Azira, I suppose…" said Aziraphale tentatively, feeling incredibly unsure of himself right now.

"All right—I'm Sera and you're Uncle Azira," nodded Serafel. "You live in a bookshop where I'm going to live too. We dress like this because we're pretending to be mortals and we don't show them angelic garbs and wings—"

"And hide our angelic light," added Aziraphale.

"And hide our angelic light," confirmed Serafel, but made absolutely no move to do so, looking rather impatient. Then he grabbed Aziraphale by the wrist. "Okay—all set! Come on!" And proceeded to drag his brand new mentor outside the door.

"W-Wait! Serafel! Hold on a minute!" Aziraphale exclaimed as his student heaved him across the room. "What are you doing?!"

"What I'm here for!" said Serafel cheerfully. "Training! Doing good deeds, making mortals to do the same, spreading goodness and kindness to the world—we're not going to get anything done sitting here, so come on!" And he tugged, surprisingly strongly, at Aziraphale's arm, pushing him forward now and nearly flinging him right into the door.

"Okay hang on—hang on!" Aziraphale turned planted a hand at the doorpost and turned to him. "Just one more minute! I don't think you _quite_ understand what's going on just yet."

"Of course I do!" said Serafel incredulously. "We're out to do the job we're sent to do!"

"Yes, but you don't just _walk_ up to a mortal and _make_ him do something good, firstly."

Stunned pause. "Why not?"

"You can't! Free will!" Aziraphale waved his arms. "We're here to indirectly influence. That's flat. Mortals are…er…they're very…_volatile_. Push them too hard at something, they might just do the opposite."

"But that's silly, why wouldn't they want to do good things?" Serafel said.

"They do, but at the same time they have the capacity _not_ to," Aziraphale explained. He sighed. This was going to take weeks to explain if the boy doesn't get it. "All right, we'll go out. And I'll show you how we do it here. But first, _please_ put away your angelic light."

"I already did," said the visibly luminescent teen.

"You haven't," Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

Serafel turned pink. "Oh, so…it…didn't work." He looked embarrassed, scratching his head. "I thought it would be…um…how exactly does one do that?"

_I think I'll call Raphael later and ask what the heck is going on,_ Aziraphale sighed and smiled a little as he did it for the younger angel. "There."

But Serafel's expression had suddenly changed. He looked like he was concentrating on something far away. "Serafel?"

The boy grabbed his arm. "Wait." He paused, still concentrating. Then he raised up confused eyes at Aziraphale. "Do you feel that?"

"Feel what?" asked the older angel.

There was sound of singing metal and Serafel had seemingly drawn a great silver sword out of thin air, engraved with angelic runes, although he did not let go of Aziraphale. He looked confused. "It's…a demon. Nearby." He looked up at Aziraphale. "What, you don't feel that?"

This quite frankly startled the other angel. "No, I don't." _Wait…_ He looked up suddenly, before darting out the door and looking out, with Serafel at his heels.

There was nothing outside. Only the very faint sound of a car that had already driven far away.

Aziraphale stared. _No wonder I didn't feel startled by it… Crowley…?_

* * *

"I don't like that place," Jaden muttered, his eyes darkening as he continued to glance back to where they came from. He seemed only slightly unnerved by the speed his mentor was going in this contraption he was in. 

"What place?" grunted Crowley, sounding rather tight.

"That we passed by a minute back," Jaden said, looking at him. The silver gleam in Jaden's eyes was positively hazardous. "There was something there, you know."

Crowley sighed. "Kid, you haven't been here on earth two and a half hours and you already—"

"There was an angel there."

Crowley's foot practically jammed itself onto the accelerator. "_What_?" he demanded, turning to the boy in the passenger's seat. Jaden continued to frown. In his hand materialized a slender black sword in a scabbard that glowed red in demonic mist.

"I felt an angel in one of the places back there," said the student coolly. "I suppose Up There's got agents here too." He eyed Crowley sideways. "Our enemies, right? Aren't we supposed to be discorpo—"

"Just put _away_ that sword, all right?!" Crowley snapped, feeling something very similar to panic go up in him for only a very brief moment. "You're not allowed to start swiping at anything with that until you've been here at least a week, understand?!"

"_Why_?" Jaden stared.

"Because I'm your bloody trainer and I say so!" Crowley exclaimed before staring at the road. At such authority, Jaden glared but the sword dematerialized from his hand. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back, grumbling to himself.

Crowley allowed himself to relax. It was ridiculous that he even took that risk. Why he did it, he'll never know. Perhaps a moment of temporary insanity. But now he knew better—there was no way he was going past the vicinity of Aziraphale's Soho bookshop again with Jaden with him.

_Damn it…_he hissed inwardly. _I didn't think he would notice… He's sharper than he looks on this sort of thing. If we run into Aziraphale again, the kid's going to draw sword for sure._ And that was definitely something that was sure to draw the curtain on Crowley's charade—because he had the terrible suspicion that he would not have a moment's hesitation in crossing swords with Jaden if it came to that.

He glanced again at the boy, who had surprised him during the trip to the mall earlier. It would appear that Jaden was a better study at Earth than he'd let on, owing to the fact that he knew how to dress the way human teens his age did. He picked out his own clothes, but it took Crowley's efforts to stop him from making every article of clothing he purchased black as night.

"We don't go around earth like Hastur and the rest of them _lurking, _all right?" Crowley had said, eyeing the mountain of black that he was now trying to rehash as a mountain of black-and-other-colors. "Besides, it'll make you look as white as a wraith if you keep that up."

"I just like the color—I _know_ we don't lurk," Jaden had glowered. "That would be dumb. I don't have to lurk to influence a human, you know. It's not like humans really notice anything. They all just think it's in their heads anyway, when we try to influence them."

Crowley looked at him with a slight frown. "That's right… I thought you didn't know anything about Earth."

"I don't—but I've heard stories from other demons and I made sure to find out whatever information I could," the boy had said in answer as he stepped down, now wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with dark blue jeans. He had let Crowley re-pick his clothes, but drew the line at having his hair cut.

Irregardless, he had seemed to know exactly what to do. He smirked at the teenage girls who giggled past him, and everywhere the boy walked, something spilled, broke, or tripped, causing general cursing to ensue. By the time Jaden had caused the coffee maker in Starbucks to blow, Crowley sprinted in and _dragged_ the teen away before Aziraphale could really detect some serious malignant influences and decide to jump in.

_( The bad effects of a Starbucks coffee machine to be suddenly out of order in the middle of a crowded lunch hour when people had already placed orders was so utterly impressive that Crowley actually made mental note to try it in a more densely populated and coffee-dependent area next time. Like Manhattan, maybe.)_

Which was mainly why he decided to take a route back that passed by Aziraphale shop—to make sure the angel was still more or less all right. That and he wanted to glimpse him, maybe. But Jaden had proved to be sharp, really sharp.

"All right," Crowley said, looking at the boy next to him, "Maybe you know a bit. But your problem looks to me like controlling it. It's one thing to do a lot of bad jobs, and entirely another to create enough mayhem for them to send Choirs of angels smiting at you."

Jaden glanced at him sideways. "I suppose…"

"And besides, you're too direct," Crowley shook his head. "If you keep at that too much all around you, mortals are going to start taking notice in spite of all the pessimistic 'nothing weird is happening' mental state. And judging by how they deal with something they feel confirmed as malignant…"

"…like the witch hunts?" Jaden rolled his eyes. "I guess. Whatever, then. How do _you_ do it anyway?"

"The Starbucks thing was pretty good, actually," said Crowley with a shrug. "You can try doing that. Pick out what you see will _really_ get mortals riled up. They have to do it on their own, and they have to _think_ they're doing it on their own. You, on the other hand, are mostly causing random bouts of little things that they'll attribute to freak coincidences. To do that, you have to know what mortals do, why they do it—which means exposing yourself to your target's environment."

"Pardon, oh great sage," said Jaden rather sarcastically, "but isn't that what I'm doing? Isn't that what I'm here for? Besides, I know all about mortals. I've studied."

"You can't really trust the books Down There," Crowley said dismissively, waving a hand and the stoplights turned green before them. "I mean come on—they barely even know what a car is. You're going to have to spend more time with humans, Jaden."

"Then, why don't I?" Jaden shrugged.

"I was thinking putting your focus on a particular kind of human," Crowley remarked thoughtfully, a scheming grin on his lips. "In a crowd you would be most comfortable blending in with. It shouldn't be too hard, considering your disposition." He raised an eyebrow and snorted as he parked the Bentley right in front of his apartment. "You'd barely have to pretend to be anything at all."

"Well then _tell_ me!" Jaden exclaimed, getting out of the car and going after him. "What's my target? What am I supposed to do besides pretend to be some idiot human to the point that I actually have to 'purchase' things and walk around?! I was sent here to be your apprentice to learn how to tempt and gather souls for Hell and I haven't done anything!"

_Boy, they weren't kidding when they said that Hell Swords are made to cause mayhem_, Crowley rolled his eyes as he pulled out some of the bags out of the car. "Are you going to stand there dancing or help me bring things inside?"

Jaden rolled his eyes and whipped his hand through the air. The bags vanished and there was the sound of things thudding into the living room—sounding a lot like bags full of clothes and some such other things. Glaring, the teen demon strode away from him and went right through the door like a malignant ghost.

Crowley rolled his eyes. _Great. He's got mood swings too? _He went in after him and said, "Throwing a tantrum won't help you."

"I'm _not_ throwing a tantrum," Jaden glared from where he was sitting on the living room couch. He looked and said, "And why do have plants all over the place? Trying to remind yourself of what a fantastic job you did back in Eden?"

"All right, kid—look—do you want me to train you or not?!" Crowley demanded. "Because clearly, I'm not doing this all for myself! Left up to me, you'd never step foot out of Hell and I can keep on doing things _my_ way up here. Now _someone_ down there decided that I'm stuck with you _tutoring you _for Satan-knows-how-long and if I'm to do that without discorporating you, you're going to have to do as I say! Otherwise, I'll send you right back down there if you're so displeased with how things are going up here! Understand?!"

Jaden glowered but dropped his eyes. Crowley grinned in triumph to himself. _Now. That wasn't so bad._

A plant exploded into embers. The older demon frowned. "That was uncalled for."

Jaden just rolled his eyes but kept silent and nothing else blew up. But at least now Crowley had a weapon against the disgruntled younger demon—as it would clearly appear that though he was not entirely satisfied by how things have started out so far, he was not inclined at all to be sent back to Hell. Not that he blamed him, but he'd pick the kid's brain later on as to why.

He set down the packages and said, "All right. You're going to need to be comfortable around humans, know exactly how the operate, to figure out the best ways to provoke them. Therefore, you will become a human teenager for the time being. You're going to be my nephew, Jay."

"…like the _bird_?" the boy winced.

"Deal with it," Crowley glared. "You'll live here with me, naturally, but in the mean time, I do have my own things to take care of, so to keep you out of my hair and yet still learning at the same time when _I'm_ not around, I've already called ahead and made arrangements for the new life you're going to have here on earth."

"Which would be…?"

And now Crowley allowed himself his most evil grin yet. "You, young demon, are going to St. Julian's Academy. A high school."

It had the desired effect. Jaden leapt to his feet. "What?!"

"You'll be a new transfer at St. Julian's," said Crowley firmly as he paced slowly in front of his protégée. "Your target victims will be none other than the youth and as everyone knows Down There—anybody with half a pot of sense anyway—youth is a prime time to be led astray. Therefore _you_ will be there to do just that, thwarting any good deeds, providing malicious influence, etc. etc. And while you're there you will learn how human teens think and manipulate them."

He stopped now and looked at Jaden. "Well?"

The boy was struggling inwardly. The plan clearly made sense, but the idea was staggering. "I'm going to be…a human _boy_. In a _high school_."

Crowley looked him over. "Like I said. You'd barely have to pretend for it. Half the teenagers I've met have your disposition." Jaden glowered again, and Crowley continued, "I expect your first few weeks to be spent studying the teenagers and how they operate and how they would be best manipulated."

"First few _weeks_?!" Jaden exclaimed.

"You're immortal, boy, and I don't presume for one minute that you're not going to be spending a _great deal_ of time here. A few weeks will be nothing." And now, the beautiful part of Crowley's plan, "In the meantime, you will do nothing else but that, and you're disallowed from doing anything entirely too brash or too big enough to get us _both_ screwed over, and that includes your controlling your bloody urges to go swiping that sword of yours at the very barest hint of divine presence."

"So you want me to _stand_ there if I see an angel?" Jaden now looked insulted.

"No. I want you to tell _me_ when you see an angel. And I'll take care of it. Surely even _you _can follow that instruction…?" Crowley was inwardly relieved at the fact that he now had legitimate reason to feel that Aziraphale wouldn't be attacked any day soon. "So if you're not at school studying humans, you will be with me. Understand?"

Jaden sat back down heavily on the couch, looking displeased but resigned. "…whatever, then."

"Good. You start tomorrow." He threw him a gray-glossed paper bag. "Your school uniform."

Jaden peeked into the bag and pulled it out in distaste. It was gray slacks, a white shirt, a striped tie and a blue blazer with a school patch on the breast pocket. "It's hideous."

Crowley just shrugged. "It should be. Hell invented them."

* * *

That night, Aziraphale flopped back down onto one of the couches in exhaustion. He had spent the day arranging Serafel's new 'life' as it were, and though things were a lot easier than he expected, it was restraining the younger angel that proved difficult. He hadn't felt this worn out since he and Crowley once tried to navigate through a Beatles' concert. Serafel, at being taken outdoors, insisted that they see every rock and tree and shop that was on every street that they walked on. He was positively drinking in everything he could about being a human. 

However Aziraphale felt that there was very little he himself could teach Serafel about trying to think like a human in order to be _believable _around them, let alone be able to influence them, without his ever experiencing what it was like to be a human at all.

Serafel was currently curled up with a textbook about World History. His was squinting at it. "All of this…you saw all of this?"

"Yes…" Aziraphale said tiredly, although still willing to answer questions.

Serafel let out a long breath and dropped the book. "Boy, I've never been very good at History… even Up There, I sort of…glossed over those parts." He looked embarrassed.

"That's fine…" Aziraphale waved it away. "You'll learn it all over again here on Earth."

Serafel looked up, white as a sheet. "What?"

"I'm sending you to school, dear boy…" said Aziraphale, now realizing why Crowley enjoyed sleep. It must be so relaxing… "Tomorrow, I'm sending you to High School."

The angel paled further. "…a—a _school_?"

"My dear boy, I'm afraid I don't really know how to teach you anything until you know a little bit more about the world and the people in it. It'll be a lot easier for you if you learn with other humans. A high school will be perfect for you. You'll be able to lead youth to the right direction and all that…"

"But—but I'm not good in crowds!" Serafel exclaimed, getting up. "If I have to pretend to be human, I mean! Being an angel around humans, that's different but…but…"

"You'll be all right, goodness…" Aziraphale sat up, looking at him curiously. "You'll enjoy St. Julian's. I hear it's a good school. It'll be perfect. And you'll be just fine there." _And, if you're really that wrapped up in your pretending to be human, you'll do less demon hunting and smiting_.

Serafel looked utterly frightened, but sat down, discouraged, not wanting to disobey. "I suppose…"

Aziraphale smiled at him. "You'll be fine, dear. What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

**Author's Note**: _Like any good parents, they send their kiddies to school. XD So, we have a teen demon who's very good at being bad…and a teen angel who's rather bad at being good… ;; And what else can we expect but pure mayhem when they clash in the hallowed halls of St. Julian's Academy? There's nowhere as chaotic as high school, and Crowley and Aziraphale will learn exactly how much trouble their two protégées—and themselves—can get into! Please review!_


	4. Cause for Distress

**Disclaimer**: Good Omens and the characters belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett. I really really really wish I owned them though—but if I did, then it might end up being a bit rated R. XD

**Author's Note**: YAAAAY! The computer finally came back! Okay, now I get to update and I'm so sorry for not being able to somehow… ; I hope you guys will still read on and I will do my best to do more updates and do them quicker (writer's block is a _pain_, that's what it is, a non-profitable _pain_). Thank you for reading!

Okay? Read and review! Your reviews keep me going!

* * *

_**The Rebels with a Cause**_

_A Good Omens Fanfic_

* * *

**Chapter Four: Cause for Distress**

St. Julian's Academy is known to be one of the finest institutions of adolescent education in the area. It is populated by a variety of students, ranging from those of the upper class to lower class, from artisans to academic achievers. There is a little over one thousand five hundred students in the academy, and there was a glittering range of teens that walk through its doors daily, receiving the dosage education necessary for college or just the world in general. Everyday, they plough through the adolescent lives that every human must endure, more or less—ups and downs in breakneck speed with a truckload of personal, social and emotional issues that shape practically every teen novel in human history.

And it was just about to get even crazier.

As the Bentley came in through the great school gates, it had to be confessed that a great deal of the students had to stop and stare at such a well-maintained vintage car coming into their school. It made its way through the horde of students walking into the campus, that sea of gray and dark blue and ties, before coming right into a stop in front of the school steps.

Crowley stepped out, his sunglasses on, as usual, slamming the door shut as Jaden stepped out from the other door, "All right. Now this is what we're going to do. We're going to go inside, mess with the principal a little, and you get to go to class and spend a nice long day in here. Irregardless of what sort of trouble you may be in the mood for, I don't want you getting expelled right off so you might try keeping a low profile for at least today, understand?"

"I'm not sure if that's going to be easy…" Jaden said in the tone of voice that clearly told Crowley that he was smirking without the older demon having to look at him. He turned around to see his protégée and saw that Jaden had paused slightly on the school steps, looking back at the students—who were staring at him in wonder.

Crowley took a moment to consider the appearance of his student. Jaden was wearing the prescribed school uniform impeccably—mostly due to his instructions—a shining example of student perfection, or he would be except for the fact that the boy was also wearing a pair of expensive sunglasses to hide his bright silver slitted eyes from notice at once. And his hair which he refused to cut was still hanging loose and only slightly ragged. He was smirking down at the girls giggling around him.

_The perfect rich bad boy,_ Crowley rolled his eyes. _No wonder_. He grabbed Jaden by the wrist, shoved the boy's glasses back up on the bridge of his nose before dragging him up the school steps. "You have all the time in the world to have everyone notice you like I _didn't_ ask you to do, so let's get the formalities done first, shall we?"

"I have a question," said Jaden as he got pulled in through the doors.

"And I have a question too—must you _always_ question everything I do?" Crowley asked, feeling really tired of this parent-teacher thing he had gotten himself into. No wonder parents looked so harassed. Being "godfather" to Warlock back in the day was one thing, but being full time parent to a demon barely twenty-four hours and he was ready to discorporate something. He forced himself to remain rational.

"I just wanted to ask how you wanted me to behave besides low profile?" Jaden raised an eyebrow as he followed Crowley's stride through the school hallways. "Did you want me never to talk or to be social? What kind of grades did you want me to get? And do you_really_ expect me to do any homework?"

"Uh…" Crowley was looking at the signs on the doors distractedly, "I guess you should just act the way you usually do…maybe the way you were back when you were a Hell Sword in training…"

Jaden shrugged and rolled his eyes again, fortunately unseen behind the dark glasses. He wasn't sure if his trainer was completely aware of what he was like as a Hell Sword, but if that's what he wanted then he certainly had no complaints. Crowley stopped in front of the principal's office and let out his breath. "All right, here we are." He turned to Jaden and held out his hand. "Your sword."

"No way!" Jaden immediately said as it materialized into his hand, clutching at it.

Crowley glared at him. "Give it to me. You'll survive _one day_ without it. I don't want you causing any _real_ damage on your first day—otherwise _I'll_ get it from Down There. Now hand it over."

Grumbling begrudgingly, Jaden slapped the sword, scabbard and all, into Crowley's hand. "You better not throw it away or anything…"

Crowley ignored it as he dematerialized the sword. "You'll get it back when you're good and ready. For now, I'll be keeping this for you."

"Let's just go, okay?" said Jaden, shuffling his shiny-shoed feet, clearly displeased with the state of affairs. "The sooner we get today over, the better."

"One thing you have to learn while living here, kid…is that one day just pours into the next—and the sooner we finish today, it'll only make doing it all over again tomorrow sooner," Crowley mumbled as he opened the door into the Principal's office.

Talking to the principal took quicker than expected considering the mental 'prodding' that Crowley had used on her to convince her to rather 'forget' about any form of previous records necessary for Jaden's transfer, not to mention where the boy came from at all, and ultimately 'convincing' her that Jaden was, in fact, fully 'paid' on all fees, including a very _generous_ donation to the school fund. After all…there was nothing more dangerous than a teenage boy with enough money and power to make even school officials think twice on doing anything to him. Even Crowley was aware of that fact, and was therefore assured that his student would have every best opportunity to influence some malignant doings.

And even Jaden had to admit that it took a bit more self-control not to burst out laughing as Crowley positively talked—or manipulated—his way smoothly out of any problems that may arise from his transfer.

Naturally—neither demon realized that a couple of very angelic problems were already in the hallway.

* * *

"Thank you _so_ much for your help, Father Louis," said Aziraphale with a smile to good-natured elderly priest walking with them down the hall. "I don't know how to ever repay you for this. I've been so anxious to get Sera to school and get adjusted to his new life as soon as possible…"

"It's nothing at all, nothing at all, Mr. Fel," said the priest with a chuckle. "I must say I have never seen a child so good-natured and high-spirited as your nephew here in St. Julian's. And such _extensive_ biblical knowledge. I assume that it comes from you and your collection?"

Serafel blushed and laughed, scratching the back of his head as Aziraphale just laughed nervously. "Yes, I…well, I suppose so." He glanced to his 'nephew' and tsked as he straightened the younger angel's necktie.

Aziraphale had actually done a bit of 'community service' at St. Julian's, helping out in the soup kitchen that opens every Sunday at the back of the church in school grounds. He met Father Louis there, the parish priest, and had actually procured from him one of the bibles in his collection—a very old bible from the 17th century called the _Dove and Snake Bible—_and has since then become good friends with him.

_(The Dove and Snake Bible was notable for it's Exodus section, wherein there were numerous mentions of a dove leading people back to the group in case they got lost in the long walk and a big black snake that kept poking its head into the wine stores.)_

"Well, I can certainly say that St. Julian's will be more than happy to accommodate him," said Father Louis as he smiled. "I've already spoken to the principal yesterday as I've promised—she says that she is also looking forward to meeting him and having him join our ranks here in the academy."

"_Thank you_, father," smiled Aziraphale. "I can't tell you how much of a relief it is to find that Sera will be able to come to school and join the other youngsters…maybe help a few lost lambs along back to the right path and all that…"

"Well, if he can, then it'll certainly be a blessing," chuckled Father Louis. He leaned towards him a bit and whispered, "To be honest, Mr. Fel, though St. Julian's also boasts a moral and virtuous upbringing for young folk, we do have our share of troubles like in any other school. I do hope that, if anything, Sera would be an angel."

Sera blinked out and burst out laughing. He might've been just about to say something about that little fact when Aziraphale, detecting catastrophe, immediately said loudly, "Yes, well, I'm very sure he will be! I'm counting on him to! Isn't that right, Sera?" and he stared pointedly at him.

The younger angel took the hint, fortunately and shut up. A loud, melodious pealing crossed over campus, making everyone look up. It was the sound of the church bells ringing, coming from the direction of the church they had previously left.

Father Louis then said, "Oh, I daresay that's the bell for first class. Now we had best hurry—I wouldn't want Sera here to miss anything of his first day. Mr. Fel, I assume you and I will be able to take care of the rest of the details. Son, you should run along if you want to get started here."

Aziraphale nodded and looked to Serafel, who looked confused. "Go on ahead. Here." He handed the young angel a sheet of paper. "Here's your list of classes, and go to all of them, okay? I want you to meet with as many young people as possible."

"Wha—but I—aren't you coming with me?" Serafel said, eyes wide and the terror clear in them. Aziraphale gave him an incredulous look and whispered, "Of course I won't. You can still call if ever you need anything, of course, but you _have_ to learn how to be on your own among humans at first at least. That's very important since you'll be doing that a lot. And besides, you'll be better able to relate to them since they're around your age. I'm sure you'll have a good time."

"Are you sure about this…?" Sera wondered out loud as he glanced apprehensively at the students passing by giving him looks, as he was a new face in the halls.

"Just remember all the rules I told you," said Aziraphale with a smile. "For now, you're going to _study_ human youth. Watch how they operate, mingle, and _indirectly_ influence when you find an opportune time. Although doing the last part may be too early. Best observe for now."

"O-okay…" Serafel answered, swallowing hard.

"Okay," Aziraphale smiled, fairly confident that at least with_this_ crowd, the young angel might fit in better. Surely in_this_ place he'll learn how to deal with human society. Isn't that why human children were sent here in the first place? He should be perfectly fine. He turned to Father Louis. "Shall we, father?"

Aziraphale gave Serafel one last wave and watched as the young angel took a few tentative steps towards one direction, and then looked down at his class sheet, and then took off running in another direction some other students were going. Aziraphale wondered, quite seriously, if his protégée would actually be all right in this place, or if he should've perhaps given him a few more pointers, but he decided that if Serafel was going to be mostly dealing with young humans like him, Aziraphale himself could provide all too little help on the subject.

What Aziraphale _didn't_ realize were two things, as he went down the hall, back to the direction of the church with Father Louis, was one: Serafel's take on the Earth was quite unalike how his own was, seeing as how he'd been here since The Beginning, and the young angel had only been here in a less than two days, and was, in all likelihood, going to get himself into some trouble.

And two: that as he passed by one adjoining hall, one handsome demon that had just finished sending his own protégée off had caught sight of him passing by.

Crowley froze for one moment, agonizing over what exactly he should do as he watched the angel leave his line of sight with Father Louis. He could go up to him and try and see if the angel was still angry, or of he should clear off before he got seen, or felt.

And _then_ he remembered what Hell Swords were capable of even without a sword, and how one overly touchy one was currently within the building. It took him less than a second to go bolting off to a separate route to a spot near enough to the church to catch Aziraphale when he would come out, but not near enough to probably burn him.

* * *

Serafel stared at his class list. He wasn't really half as slow as he appeared and quite frankly he was clever in his own way, it's just that even though he fully understood that these codes listed down on the paper were his classes, he didn't know exactly _how_ to get to them. The hallways in St. Julian's seemed so frustratingly identical to one another to the untrained eye, with adjoining halls and staircases all over the place, that he wasn't even sure if he was in the right wing for his classes. He had climbed all sorts of stairs and had gone into halls that looked right and didn't look right and now he had stopped, scrutinizing his paper.

What was the first one? Homeroom…? What was that? And _where_ was that? Room 204… He looked up. The classrooms in this hall were all starting with threes.

"Excuse me, young man, but the bell has rung. What may you still be doing, standing here in the hallway…?"

Serafel looked up to see a rather tall man standing there, with wet-looking jet black hair and slightly watery blue-gray eyes behind spectacles. He didn't look very old, but he gave the impression that he'd seen quite a few things in his lifetime already. As Serafel stared up at him, he looked down at him and suddenly seemed a bit surprised.

But all he said was, "Well? Shall you stand there staring at me or shall I have to take you to the principal's office for truancy?"

_Principal's office? _Serafel thought, confused. _But I thought we only had Principalities in Heaven._ "Oh, no, I'm not here to see a Principality. I need to find where room 204 is, sir. I'm new and…I think I'm lost."

The professor gave him a narrow-eyed look for a moment, before saying, "You are in the entirely wrong floor. Roof 204 is _below_ you. And you are already _late_," he added as though to quash the relieved look on Serafel's face, "and I suggest that you ask your professor for a tardy slip. Now. _Go to class_." And he strolled off, carrying a large tome under his arm.

Serafel gulped, a bit scared, and nodded. "Yes, sir." And he ran off, carrying his books with him. As he went, the professor with the spectacles eyed his progress before frowning. _That boy. He'll be trouble_. And he went sweeping off, sending other tardy students in the third floor running out of his way.

* * *

"Class, this is a new classmate for everyone, isn't that all too wonderful? And I hope you will welcome him into our little family and become his very good friend…" The curly-haired brunette pudding of a female professor said brightly to her class as she looked them over. Already she could be assured that they would, because hardly an eye could be kept off the new student standing next to her.

Jaden, who wasn't listening, was completely unimpressed by the wide-eyed looks he was currently being given and the whispering in the classroom that he was the subject of. He was used to being stared at and for good reasons.

_(Mostly, he was stared at in fear and abject horror down Below by the lower classes of demons who run out of his and his 'classmates' way as he passed, so this wasn't new.)_

But what he _couldn't_ stand so much was how _sunny_ his homeroom teacher was. Professor Wallace hadn't stopped smiling since he'd come in and he was almost started to wonder if she had it permanently fixated that way, like some overly cute knickknack you see on your grandmother's shelves. She nearly bubbled over in delight when Jaden quietly knocked and entered, and he thought she'd have heart failure with delight when he presented his class list to her to show that he was a new student.

_What's __**wrong**__ with her?_ he wondered. He'd heard from Crowley that some people on Earth were like this, but he didn't think that he was _serious._

"Come on, please introduce yourself and don't be shy!" said Professor Wallace, smiling brightly. "Go on, say something about yourself."

Jaden mentally rolled his eyes. _Well if I'm going to go influencing people, I might as well do the thing right. _And he looked at his classmates, nodded and said, "I'm…Jay Denn. I've just…been _sent _here to live with my uncle. Going to be staying a while."

"Where are you from?" asked one girl from the back, grinning.

To which Jaden just smirked and said, "From Hell?"

The boys laughed and some girls giggled more at his handsome smirk than anything as Professor Wallace just laughed a slightly uncomfortable laugh. Jaden smirked at the rest of the class. It would appear that they had a favorable reaction to even such a thing as that. Maybe this will actually be easier than he thought.

There was the sound of a body throwing itself frantically onto the doorway. Jaden had been hearing the sound of panicked running down the hall but only acknowledged it now that it had arrived to their door. Everyone looked up to see a blond boy flung there, with big thickly-lashed blue eyes, flushed with the effort of running and looking positively disheveled in that uniform and his messenger bag flung wildly around him.

There was a burst of laughter from the classroom, and the boy flushed in embarrassment as he tried to straighten himself up with not much success. Jaden raised an eyebrow at him as he tentatively came forward and held out a rumpled class list to kindly Professor Wallace.

She blinked down at it. "Oh, another one, I see!" She blinked up at the lean blond boy. "Let's see now. Sera Fel, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, relieved that this adult was less scary than the first. "I'm—I'm new…"

There was tittering in the classroom again at his appearance, and one boy at the back actually said, "What's _wrong_ with him? He looks like a wimp _and_ a girl."

An explosion of laughter followed this. At this, Sera felt himself feel a rather good bit of unholy anger, but he simply bit lip down and said nothing. It just went to show how much _work_ he had to do and he was all too willing to make sure that he'll show Aziraphale how good at this he could be. Besides, their professor seemed kind and at least _that_ was a good start. He gave her a nice smile.

Professor Wallace smiled back and said, "Well, my dear you are _very_ welcome to our class. _Both_ of you."

Sera felt surprised and turned to the other person Professor Wallace was smiling at. He looked at Jaden, and Jaden looked at him. And there was a long, tense moment as both boys looked at each other. Both felt an unmistakable sense of wanting to strike at something. Jaden felt something entirely too _good_ coming from the boy. And Sera felt something entirely too _evil_ coming from the boy.

Jaden glared at him. Sera felt startled, and frowned back. Jaden only raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest as Sera frowned, clutching his bag strap. You could practically feel the furious sparks going off between them, even though neither knew exactly _why_ the other had this effect on them.

This looked like the start of an absolutely beautiful problem.

* * *

As Aziraphale descended the steps of the church, he looked up to see a very familiar demon leaning on a Bentley just off fifty yards from the church steps. Utterly stunned, he stopped to stare. As though he felt this, Crowley looked up and looked at him over his sunglasses. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Crowley let out his breath.

"You mind giving a demon a fighting chance by getting off that church and coming over here?"

Giving in to the urge to smile a little, Aziraphale slowly descended the church steps and walked over to the Bentley there. "Well…" said the angel, "I didn't quite expect to see you here…of all places. Then again…you haven't been anywhere in quite a while, so maybe I should've looked here sooner."

"And what about you?" Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Like I've heard anything from you the past few days."

"Is it so important to you to?" Aziraphale blinked.

Crowley's ability to restrain a flush was put to the test at that. He countered that with a, "And it isn't to you?"

At least Aziraphale was more inclined to a blush. The angel laughed a little. "I was…well…" he looked embarrassed. "…I presumed that you were highly upset about something."

"What in the world would I be upset about?" Crowley asked in amazement.

Aziraphale was puzzled. "Why, because I stood you up four days ago! I was…um…called off to something important." He glanced off, feeling embarrassed.

_So he wasn't angry, he didn't make it either…_ Crowley stared at him and glanced off when it got too awkward. Should he even tell him that he wasn't even there either? "Oh…that… well… I'm not angry."

"I suppose I'll make it up to you, my dear," Aziraphale sighed. "To be fair and all."

"No, I…" Crowley rolled his eyes and waved it off hastily. "It's old news. Look. You want to go get brunch or something? Right now? Anywhere not here?"

"Are you _that_ uncomfortable around a church?" Aziraphale said in surprise as he stepped forward to get into the Bentley's passenger's seat. "I know that you all have an aversion to holy water but it's not like it's all over the place…"

_No, I have an aversion to you getting detected and/or swung at by my overly excitable new 'apprentice'. _"No, I'm not. But you can't blame me for being a little uncomfortable around all this holiness."

"Hmm…" Aziraphale said nothing to that. He was actually glad Crowley wanted to leave. He wasn't sure that Serafel was distracted enough by being in a school not to detect the presence of a demon as powerful as him. "Crowley," he said as the car pulled away from St. Julian's, "I think we have to talk."

As if Crowley didn't have _enough_ things to think about, he decided that _those_ words alarmed him more than anything he's heard so far this week.

* * *

**Author's Note**:_So! It looks like the two boys have finally met! And natural instinct tells them that something is quite amiss with one another. Sooner or later, they're going to generate even bigger reasons for each other to feel that they've got a problem since they couldn't be more different than each other. Looks like Az and Crowley are speaking again—but what __**exactly**__ did Aziraphale want to speak to Crowley about? And finally—that professor that dear Sera ran into might not be as bad as he appears at first impression: he might just be even worse. Please review!!_


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